The Amish Wonders Collection Page 11

  Branches snapped. This time it wasn’t her imagination.

  Lindie’s back stiffened. Her knees locked in place and her hands fisted. The sound was louder than a branch falling under the weight of snow. An animal? She hoped. Just not a bear.

  More twigs crunched.

  She turned a circle, trees blurred. She changed directions, paced a short distance, and retraced her steps. She squeezed her eyes closed and shook while a suffocating constriction crawled up her throat.

  Someone cleared his throat behind her.

  Lindie spun, arms swinging. She batted Josiah’s chest and shoulders multiple times before he wrapped her in a tight embrace.

  “It’s me.” Josiah pressed her harder against his chest, whispered “Shh” over and over until she lost her fight and surrendered. Once he released his grip, she pushed off his chest.

  “We have to find Hannah.”

  “She’s in the barn with Simon.” He smiled.

  Hannah was safe. Not alone. Or lost in the woods. Tension drained from her body as his words registered. Then fresh anger rose. “Hannah needs to tell me when she’s leaving the haus. Why doesn’t she understand that? She can’t just wander off.”

  “I know.”

  “What am I supposed to do? Tether her to my hip? I was sitting at the table. She could’ve told me.” Her whole body racked with tremors. “I can’t do this. I’m no good for her—for you.”

  “Jah, you are.” He cupped her face in his hands and looked her in the eye. “Please don’t say that.”

  “You’ve avoided me since Sunday. I know you’re nett happy.”

  “I’m sorry.” Josiah ran his thumb over her face, drying the wetness. He dropped his hands and reached into his pocket. “Here.” He handed her his hankie, then looked down at her feet and frowned. “Your feet must be frozen solid. Kumm on, let’s go home before you catch pneumonia.”

  She hadn’t noticed how wet her shoes were. She wasn’t dressed in layers either. She was surprised he hadn’t said something about that too.

  He draped his arm around her shoulders and rotated her toward the path. “Let’s get out of the woods. You could pass for a deer wearing all this brown.”

  “Didn’t hunting season end in November?”

  “Rifle. But nau it’s black powder season.” He looked off to the side. “You could always sing.”

  “Sing?”

  “Jah.” He chuckled. “That would keep the hunters from mistaking you for a deer. Unless you know deer that sing.”

  Lindie narrowed her eyes a moment. Was he serious? She drew a deep breath, readied her voice, then belted out a hymn. It wasn’t easy to sing as loud as possible with her teeth chattering. She screeched out the tune anyway.

  Following the footpath through the snow, he chuckled. “You might be tone deaf.”

  “Sing with me, Josiah.” She sang a few more notes and paused. “Do you want to get shot?”

  “Someone might take a shot at you just to shut you up,” he said.

  She clamped her mouth closed and stopped walking. Given his distance toward her lately, she wasn’t sure if his comment was meant to be playful or rude. Then again, he had teased her about bear traps the last time they were in the woods together. Maybe his humor only came out in the woods. Probably his way of masking the memories of Caroline’s accident. A few cut stumps poked up through the snow. For all she knew this could be the very spot of the accident. And while Josiah avoided this place, Hannah seemed to have found solace here. Why else would she return to this spot?

  “Why did you stop? I was beginning to like that squawking,” Josiah said.

  “Squawking!” She buried her cold hands under her armpits, but couldn’t stop shivering.

  “You better nett stand in one place too long.” He motioned forward with his head. “Don’t get frostbitten because you’re being vain about your singing.”

  “Vain, I’m nett.”

  “It’s too kalt out here to sulk.” He snatched her off her feet and into his arms.

  “What are you doing?” The warmth of his body made her insides surge with sensations she wasn’t prepared for. “Put me down.”

  “Nope.” He marched forward. “I don’t want to leave you in the woods and I’m too kalt to wait for you.”

  “Put me down or I’ll start singing again.”

  He chuckled and kept walking.

  Cradled in his arms gave her a perfect view of him. A thick, chestnut-colored beard, rosy cheeks from the cold, and dark lashes that contrasted with his royal-blue eyes. She watched him so long that he winked. She squirmed in his arms. “Okay, put me down and I’ll promise nett to sing.”

  A smile lingered on his face as if he was mulling over the idea.

  “You’re nett thinking about carrying me all the way back to the haus, are you?”

  “I might.” Approaching a low-hanging branch in their path, he shielded her face with his hand and ducked his head, bringing him nose to nose with her as he passed under the covering.

  “What will Simon and Hannah think?”

  “I guess we’ll find out in a few minutes.” He readjusted her in his arms. “You need to eat more. You don’t weigh much more than a goat.”

  “A goat?”

  “A pregnant one.”

  “Denki for clarifying that.” She huffed. “A goat, just what a woman wants to be compared to.”

  They reached the edge of the woods and he lowered her to her feet. He turned and coughed, causing his shoulders to shake and the veins in his neck to protrude.

  “Are you taking anything for that cough?”

  “Nay, but I’ll be all right.” His expression didn’t match his words. He resumed walking, cutting a trail through the snow.

  She followed behind him. “How did you know I went into the woods?”

  “I was emptying a wheelbarrow of manure behind the barn and I heard what I thought was a scream.”

  She didn’t recall screaming. A chill went down her spine. “I was afraid.”

  “Jah, remind me never to sneak up on you again. You have a solid punch.” He rubbed his arm.

  She smiled.

  “I’ve known of a few goats with a mean strike, but no women.”

  “I have a gut kick too.”

  He unlatched the fence gate and swung it open. “I suppose I need to work on finding your soft side.” He chuckled. “You do have a soft side, jah?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then I’ll enjoy finding it.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Josiah examined the bruises on his upper arms. He’d teased Lindie about having a solid punch, but she hadn’t hit him hard enough to bruise. These looked more like he’d been thrown off a horse. They didn’t hurt as much as they were ugly. He could only imagine what the back of his shoulders looked like. It was bad enough that a rash covered his chest. Now he had dark-blue blotches everywhere. The different signs and symptoms were all pointing to something he didn’t want to face. Panic sped through him like a ball of fire. No, this wasn’t happening. Not again. He fastened the hook and eyes on his shirt and pulled up his suspenders.

  Breakfast smelled good. Scrambled eggs, potatoes, and a thick slice of sourdough bread. He was getting used to having someone cook for him again. He wished Hannah would participate more in preparing the food. She didn’t do much besides set the table.

  “It smells gut.” He looked over Lindie’s shoulder as she dished up potatoes from the skillet.

  “Hungry?”

  “Jah.” He took his place at the table and winked at Hannah seated on his left. The door opened and Simon entered the house.

  “Another kalt day,” Simon said, pulling out a chair.

  Hannah tapped Josiah’s shoulder and signed, asking if she could brush Moose after breakfast.

  “Maybe later I’ll have time,” Josiah said. He liked that his daughter was interested in spending time with the old draft horse, but he didn’t have much time to watch her. He expected Hal to arrive with more lu
mber and he still needed to deliver the Christmas wreaths in town.

  Simon huffed. “I thought it was your fraa’s duty to watch her.”

  Josiah’s attention snapped to Lindie, who stood at the stove. Her spine stiffened, but she kept her back to them. He leaned toward Simon. “Please don’t bring up the wandering off,” he said under his breath.

  “Shouldn’t she know what this is doing to you?”

  Josiah narrowed his eyes.

  Lindie set the platter of eggs on the table, took her place, and spent a long time praying.

  Everyone ate in silence. Josiah’s mind mulled over Simon’s jab. He wished his father-in-law would accept her. After all, this wasn’t a temporary arrangement.

  An engine rumbled outside. Josiah leaned back in his chair. “That’s Hal.” He took one last sip of coffee and slid his chair back.

  Hannah rose to follow her father, but Simon stopped her. “You must stay,” he told his granddaughter. He eyed Lindie. “It’s too dangerous for her.”

  “I’ll make sure she stays inside.” She wished Josiah wasn’t the only one who’d rushed outside.

  Simon shoved his hands into his gloves. “Maybe you don’t understand how difficult the changes have been. It isn’t gut for Josiah’s health to be under so much stress. He needs someone to watch his dochder and to know when she leaves the haus.”

  “Jah, I will.” Lindie gathered the dirty dishes. The added stress had been hard on everyone. She wondered if Simon noticed the dark circles under Josiah’s eyes and blamed them on her arrival. What would he say if he knew she was pregnant? He made it clear that she wasn’t much of a mamm for Hannah. Nor was she a gut fraa for Josiah.

  Simon left the kitchen, melted snow from his boots puddled under the table where he’d sat.

  Lindie prepared a bucket of mop water and scrubbed the floor. Once the kitchen floors were cleaned, she reached for the sign language book in the center of the table and flipped it open to the place where she’d stopped the night before. She went over the new information a few times, practiced making the hand gestures, but had no idea if she was doing it right.

  Discouraged over her lack of progress, Lindie scooped up the book. The key to developing the correct movements was to practice with someone who could communicate in return. Hannah hadn’t been receptive yet, but Lindie was determined to at least make the effort. The girl couldn’t avoid her forever. Lindie eased the girl’s bedroom door open.

  Hannah sat on the floor with her back against the wall, a small drawing tablet on her lap. As she squatted beside Hannah, a burning sensation speared Lindie’s right side. She winced. Was this normal?

  After a moment, the intensity subsided and she took a spot on the floor.

  If the girl noticed, she made no indication. Her concentration remained fixed on the sketch she was working on.

  Lindie leaned against the wall. Fear had doubled her over in the woods. But this pain was different. It hit her hard and felt like fire.

  Hannah lifted her pencil. Her vacant gaze reached Lindie’s soul. Hannah’s vision dropped to Lindie’s belly, then without warning, the girl stretched out her hand and rested it on Lindie’s abdomen—in the exact spot of her pain.

  An odd sensation worked its way to Lindie’s core as Hannah’s expression saddened. She lifted her hand and, without changing her expression, signed something Lindie couldn’t decipher. She opened the sign language book, flipped through several pages, but could only find “sorry” as one of the hand gestures Hannah used.

  Hannah shifted on the floor as if she was going to stand.

  Lindie motioned to the girl’s drawing pad, now clutched against her chest.

  The girl’s face crinkled.

  Lindie signed the letters P-L-E-A-S-E. A long moment passed. Had she used the wrong letters? Reconfiguring her hand, she formed a P, then an L.

  Hannah relinquished her prized possession. She pressed her hand over the crumpled page and smoothed out the crease, then turned it so Lindie could see her work.

  Lindie smiled. She recognized the cardinal by the spiked feathers on top of its head and under its bill. Even without the use of any color. She handed the drawing back to Hannah. At the same time she signed, she spoke the words aloud. “I love it.”

  Hannah cracked a thin smile. It didn’t last, but it was a start.

  “You are . . .” Lindie struggled for the proper way to sign talented or gifted. “Very good.” That wasn’t what she wanted to say. She wanted Hannah to understand that her talent was a gift from God.

  Hannah clutched the picture to her chest.

  Before the child closed her off again, Lindie rose to her feet. Hannah needed space and Lindie had cleaning to finish. She left the child’s room feeling like they’d made progress.

  “I poured you some kaffi,” Josiah said as she entered the kitchen.

  “I didn’t hear you kumm in.” She wasn’t sure she wanted caffeine after having the sudden cramps only a few minutes ago. She set the sign language book on the table and sat. “I was practicing.”

  “I know. When I came inside and didn’t see you, I checked Hannah’s room.” He smiled. “I was glad to see that.”

  “It’s a start.” Lindie sat down at the table.

  He slid a paper across the table to her. “That’s the invoice for the delivery.”

  “Okay, I’ll be sure to log it in the book.” She circled the rim of the cup with her finger.

  “It’s going to be off. Badger Creek didn’t have an elm to send.”

  “Oh.” She’d been preoccupied with thoughts of what Simon had said earlier and hadn’t been listening very well.

  “I promised Eli I could fill his order . . . I’ll have to use some of our trees.” His voice drifted off as he stared into his cup.

  “What does that mean?”

  The chair scraped across the wooden floor as he pushed away from the table and stood. “Timbering,” he said and turned to leave.

  The moment Josiah stepped inside the workshop, a mild coughing fit overtook him.

  Simon looked up from hammering. “You said you were going to have that cough looked at.”

  Josiah shot him a glare. “It happens this time every year.” He flipped his thumb over his shoulder to the corner of the barn where the stove sat. “It’s this dry heat.” He scratched his chest over his shirt. After today, the cedar bough wreaths would be finished. Maybe the rash would disappear.

  “I still think you need to see a doktah. With all the new stress you’ve been under . . .”

  “Simon, please don’t start in about Lindie. She’s mei fraa. She deserves respect.”

  “I’m just saying, maybe the temperature change isn’t the cause.”

  Jah, stress probably had run down his immune system. It was a combination of many things. Most were out of his control. Hannah hadn’t made any progress. She remained emotionally stunted. His hopes that her behavior would change when Lindie arrived were disintegrating. Perhaps his marriage to Lindie had even compounded the issue. Lord, let it not be so.

  Josiah picked up the hammer from the workbench. There was nothing like pounding out one’s frustrations.

  “Hannah hasn’t seemed too interested in accepting your marriage.”

  Josiah drove the nail into the soft pine. “She’s a child. Besides, I don’t know if she really understood. You know as well as I do that since the accident she hasn’t . . . progressed.” He lined up another nail and struck it. “I don’t want to admit it, but she’s regressed more. Sometimes she acts like a three-year-old, sometimes like she’s five—but nett eight. She’s even sucking her thumb again.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, other than to pray,” Simon said.

  He had been praying, night and day. Josiah hoped Simon didn’t try to involve Bishop Troyer. Lindie was into her second trimester. He didn’t want to bring attention to their marriage problems or that Hannah wasn’t adjusting. As it was, it wouldn’t be long before the church members found out about h
er pregnancy. He would like to have his house in order before that happened.

  He finished nailing the last wreath and set it aside. He only had a few boughs to tie before taking them into town.

  “I need to speak with the bishop later. Do you want me to drop these off in town?”

  “Sure.” Josiah stopped himself from asking what they’d be meeting about. “It’s kalt in here.” Josiah set the hammer on the workbench and crossed the sawdust-covered floor to the other side of the barn where the potbelly stove sat. It needed more wood. He liked to keep a steady fire going so he didn’t have to be bogged down in layers of clothes as he worked. Without putting on his coat, he rushed outside to the woodpile. Busy filling his arms with wood, a horse neighed before he noticed the buggy entering the driveway.

  Ellen Yoder’s horse.

  Josiah groaned under his breath. He nearly dropped the armload of wood when the buggy stopped near the house and three women climbed out. Ada Fisher and Rebecca Troyer weren’t as much a concern as Ellen. He hoped Lindie was ready for visitors.

  Lindie sloshed the rag mop over the sitting room floor. She hadn’t realized how much soot had collected from the woodstove until she wrung black water from the mop. It didn’t even look like she damp-mopped them daily. Once the soot penetrated the wood grain, it was next to impossible to restore the original shine. It didn’t help that they had been neglected for so long. Josiah had more pressing matters than cleaning.

  She leaned the mop against the wall and grabbed the bucket of dirty water. This was the third time she had tossed the old water and refilled the bucket. And she’d only done half the floor.

  As she reached for the doorknob, someone knocked. She lowered the bucket to the floor, wiped her hands on the front of her apron, and opened the door.

  “I hope we didn’t catch you at a bad time.” Rebecca Troyer smiled and lifted a square pan, which Lindie recognized as the one she’d taken the bean casserole in for church Sunday. “I wanted to return your dish.”

  “Denki.” Lindie opened the door wider. “Please, kumm in.” She stepped aside so the women could pass. It wasn’t the most opportune time with the floors wet and only partly mopped, but she’d so longed for fellowship and was grateful for the visit.